G. Don't touch it. There's a method in my madness, though you
mightn't think of it.

MRS. G. (At table.) I want to look--Do you keep accounts, Pip?

CAPT. G. (Bending over saddlery.) Of a sort. Are you rummaging among the
Troop papers? Be careful.

MRs. G. Why? I sha'n't disturb anything. Good gracious! I had no idea
that you had anything to do with so many sick horses.

CAPT. G. 'Wish I hadn't, but they insist on falling sick. Minnie, if
I were you I really should not investigate those papers. You may come
across something that you won't like.

MRS. G. Why will you always treat me like a child? I know I'm not
displacing the horrid things.

CAPT. G. (Resignedly.) Very well, then. Don't blame me if anything
happens. Play with the table and let me go on with the saddlery.
(Slipping hand into trousers-pocket.) Oh, the deuce!

MRS. G. (Her back to G.) What's that for?

CAPT. G. Nothing. (Aside.) There's not much in it, but I wish I'd torn
it up.

MRS. G. (Turning over contents of table.) I know you'll hate me for
this; but I do want to see what your work is like. (A pause.) Pip, what
are "farcybuds"?

CAPT. G. Hab! Would you really like to know? They aren't pretty things.

MRS. G. This Journal of Veterinary Science says they are of "absorbing
interest." Tell me.

CAPT. G. (Aside.) It may turn her attention.

Gives a long and designedly loathsome account of glanders and farcy.

MRS. G. Oh, that's enough. Don't go on!

CAPT. G. But you wanted to know--Then these things suppurate and
matterate and spread--

MRS. G. Pin, you're making me sick! You're a horrid, disgusting
schoolboy.

CAPT. G. (On his knees among the bridles.) You asked to be told. It's
not my fault if you worry me into talking about horrors.

MRS. G. Why didn't you say--No?

CAPT. G. Good Heavens, child! Have you come in here simply to bully me?

MRS. G. I bully you? How could I! You're so strong. (Hysterically.)
Strong enough to pick me up and put me outside the door and leave me
there to cry. Aren't you?

CAPT. G. It seems to me that you're an irrational little baby. Are you
quite well?

MRS. G. Do I look ill? (Returning to table). Who is your lady friend
with the big grey envelope and the fat monogram outside?

CAPT. G. (Aside.) Then it wasn't locked up, confound it. (Aloud.)
"God made her, therefore let her pass for a woman." You remember what
farcybuds are like?

MRS. G. (Showing envelope.) This has nothing to do with them.